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Ah.... I have sweet memories of being just home from Vietnam, living in =
downtown Brooklyn. Sunday mornings I'd haul my bag of laundry down the =
five flights from my apartment and around the corner to the laundromat. =
I'd pay the extra quarter a load for the little old lady who ran the =
joint to run them through the wash-dry-fold. Meanwhile, I'd go nextdoor =
to the Puerto Rican cafe y pastisseria and get a pastry and big cup of =
steamy cafe con leche. Down in Greenwich village the fance coffee houses =
called it cafe au lait (French) or caffe latte (Italian). The Puerto =
Ricans used Bustello pre-ground. The fancy joints used Medaglio d'Oro.
I'd take my treats, but the Sunday NY Times and haul but backside over =
to a cozy table along the Brooklyn Prominade overlooking the harbor and =
the Manhattan skyline. There was a little deli there, so I'd buy some =
hot blintzes or a bowl of boiled new potatoes in sour cream. Along with =
the pastry and coffee, that was Sunday brunch. And absolutely heavenly!